Subordinates
by Inexplicably Kyprioth
Summary: Ever wonder how Colonel Mustang got his team? A very newly appointed Roy picks his subordinates... whoever they are.


His superiors – he didn't know who they were yet – had a surprise for the new colonel. In honor of his ascension to rank, they were switching subordinates. Again. They were never satisfied with their subordinates.

Roy really wished that they had thought of a less information-demanding gift. He didn't know anything yet. He didn't know who his superiors were. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He didn't know who the subordinates were.

Since it was supposed to be for Roy's appointment-day, he got first pick. Roy scanned the list of names, taking his time as they told him to, wondering who to pick. And then – light dawned. A name.

_Breda._

He liked the name. Roy picked him. Breda. He felt quite happy with this choice, and was gloating when the person to his left nudged him and shoved the list more fully into his face. 

Right. Breda was a good choice. He could do this. Roy's eyes skipped down the list. A lot of names were scratched out, he noticed, but a lot more were left. Lots of rounds of them. Almost all the Cs had been scratched, and the Es weren't much better. And no way was Roy picking someone named Daft, even if it did have an E on the end. That was too much even for teasing's sake.

Ah, there was a good one. Falman. He could take the fall if Roy ever got in trouble. The new Colonel Mustang liked bad puns. He wrote his initials next to it, hastily remembering the C of Colonel, scratched the name, and passed it on.

They each had a different color of pen to cross names out with, Roy noted. His was fuchsia. What kind of sick evil mastermind did this to someone, particularly a new officer? Roy had no sooner voiced the question to himself than he had answered it.

_Hughes._

Lieutenant Colonel Hughes was in to _everything_. Only he would pick fuchsia for a new officer, too. It was just the sort of torment the Lieutenant Colonel liked. Of course, he might think it was an honor, since it was his wife's favorite color, and he proclaimed to everyone that it would be the favorite color of their child, no matter the kid's gender.

Poor kid.

"Ow!" Roy yelped quietly, almost belting it out before he remembered he was with his superiors. Peers, now, he reminded himself. And it was one of them who had kicked him. Right. Another choice.

The Ds had been taken now, Roy noted, pretending to consider his options carefully. A foot tapped. Someone knew he was faking. Right. Back to the Fs, which were surprisingly intact, probably because the majority of the officers had moved on to the Gs. Roy looked through the Fs again, and was caught by the _perfect _subordinate. His name was Fuery. Blind Fuery, Roy hoped, but knew better than to expect. He began writing his initials.

The man beside him gasped. More or less. He was in the military, so he wasn't _allowed _to give shocked gasps. It was more like the official intake of breath. "You want _him? Fuery?_"

"Yes." Roy replied, suddenly suspicious. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Cat hair, it's nothing." Someone across the table muttered, using a very strange expletive that Roy would have to ask him about later.

Roy passed the paper on to the next person again.

"Ambuwgews and wootbeew." The officer to his left muttered.

"What?" Roy asked sharply.

"Oh, nothing." There was a pause, then a much softer, "better you than me." But Roy had sharp ears. He heard.

What was wrong with Cain Fuery? 

Maybe he had warts. Or hives. Or some sort of disease. Or he lisped. Roy cowered at the thought of a lisp. They were just too funny. He couldn't help laughing whenever he heard one. Lithpth cracked him up, thent him reeling into helpleth giggleth, chuckleth, and hootth of laughter. They were threatening to do tho now, and Roy carefully thent them to the very farthetht corner of hith mind. _Really_. He bani_s_hed them. They weren't allowed to come back or return, not even as amba_ss_adors from the farthe_s_t corner_s_ of hi_s _mind.

"Pay attention!" Officer-to-the-left snapped, giving Roy the paper again. He really had to pay attention. He had one round in which to prove himself capable of focus. Even if he wasn't. Roy took the paper.

All the Gs were gone at this point, which was a pity, as there was a Goodman, who would have been a good man to have around. No puns right now, though. He had to concentrate. No puns. Concentrate. No puns. Concentrate. H.

The next name went _perfectly _with the last one. _Fuery _wreaked _Havoc _on the world. Roy took him, causing alarmed eye-widenings to occur all around the table. He ignored them, like a good little officer, and passed the sheet on unperturbed.

"He wanted Fuery _and _Havoc?"

"Together?"

"Glad I'm not him."

"_Help us_. _Both _of them?"

Roy watched the paper going around. These officers were _efficient_. They chose quickly, knowing precisely who they wanted. Roy accepted the paper graciously when it got to him again, and tried to be brisk. Right. He ought to be more serious this time, pick someone he'd heard of before. Yeah, that was it. Someone good. Someone who cou –

_Hawkeye._

It was so perfect. Roy really liked the idea of having a subordinate named Hawkeye. He'd snap his fingers – without his glove on, of course, although with it would be so… anyway – and the man would come in, hiding behind hawk-shaped glasses. Or maybe he'd have really hawk eyes. Or a feather mask. Or…

"_What do you mean you haven't done your paperwork?_"

Roy cowered. He hadn't thought Hawkeye would be a _girl_. Or _violent_, which he suspected she was, considering the holes in the plastic, the holster at her side, and the gun pointed at him. She was pointing a _gun _at him! Was she _insane?_

It worked, though. A few moments later, Roy was doing his paperwork, something he'd never even _considered _before, glumly scrawling nonsense across blank spaces.

Fuery tried to console him. "Here, have a puppy."

Roy groaned. Life would never be the same. He would never get to be a nice, carefree, helpless bachelor tossed around by the winds of government. Worse than the laws of alchemy, worse than paperwork, worse than engagements or marriage, being an officer tied one down.


End file.
